


The Lion's Oath

by Sereven



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2019-06-09 05:53:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15260847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sereven/pseuds/Sereven
Summary: On the other side of the Narrow Sea, Jaime Lannister has lived in self-imposed exile for many years. Stubborn to keep at least his last oath, the oath he had given to Prince Rhaegar the day the prince had left for the Trident. With a princess in his care and an army of mercenaries at his command, he bides his time for the day of reckoning.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, what is the setup for this story? There has been one major shift in the past. Rhaegar knew that Jaime could be the key to winning the war, so he made sure that Jaime would be loyal to him, by using the boy's admiration for Ser Arthur Dayne and his wish to be a good knight. With weakened ties to his family and the wish to uphold the oath he had given to Prince Rhaegar, Jaime ends up with the last remaining Targaryen loyalists, protecting one of Rhaegar's children.
> 
> This story can be seen as a possible continuation of my other story, 'Lions and Dragons'

Jaime Lannister inspected the sword in his hand with a keen eye, looking for any imperfections in the steel, or any tiny notches on the blade. It surely wasn't the supreme craftsmanship that a smith in Lannisport or King's Landing, but it was well enough made for the swordsmiths in the former Valyrian city of Tolos.

He himself had no need for a new blade. The one his father had gifted him after he had been knighted was still far better than anything he had encountered, bar the odd few Valyrian Steel swords he had laid eyes on since then. A good sixteen years had passed since that day and his sword was still the best for him. His father had never spared any expenses for his son and heir.

Not even Tywin Lannister could have foreseen how his actions had saved his son's life more than once, even though Jaime had been lost to the Lord of the Westerlands for nearly two decades now...

But he wasn't here to equip himself, but rather to commision a few dozen new weapons for the men in his mercenary company. The fights in the last few months had been hard and the Meereenese had fought tooth and nails for the ruins of Bhorash. Casualties had not been as bad as Jaime had feared at first, but the weapons they had used had suffered more than the men who wielded them.

"What do you say, this one looks promising," he asked the woman who followed two steps behind him.

Myria took the offered weapon from him and gave it some good swings. She was highly capable with the sword, though she was more comfortable with knives and spears. She was an odd one, he had to admit. Far too many haunting secrets and regrets to be considered sound of mind, she was still very capable. And that despite her humble beginnings. She had been little more than the unwanted bastard daughter of some Volantene noble and a rhoynish slave. A bloody mess, when Jaime had received her as a gift from an old slaver almost a year ago.

"Well balanced," Myria said, "But too long for most of the younger men in your company. They lack the stamina. They can barely use their little blades properly."

"Of course you would know about the stamina of the lads," Jaime chuckled.

"And their little blades," she added with a laugh. "But we should look for short swords instead, I think."

Jaime hummed in agreement but considered ordering some more longswords as well. The number of former hedge knights and disappointed second sons of Westerosi nobles in his mercenary company had swelled in the last few years. Those trained on the other side of the Narrow Sea would need the weapons they had been taught with.

"Let's move on, there's another weaponsmith at the other end of the merchant's quarter," Jaime ordered.

Ever obedient, Myria followed him without pause or protest.

A rancid odor filled the Lannister knight's nostrils, as they passed some of the open stalls of the tanners. Freshly acquired pelts hung outside, showing various beasts, both native to the lands around Tolos and from far beyond. Yunkish and Ghiscari traders often brought live animals to Tolos, just so they could be butchered and processed freshly by the slaves here.

He quickened his steps to escape the smells and to reach the other smith before the sun would fully set. The city was already bathed in the ominous orange light of the evening hours and soon enough it would be pitch black darkness in the city. The time when the most unsavory of Tolos' occupants would leave their holes to steal and destroy the work of better men.

"Commander," Myria suddenly called out to him, just as they passed through the last of the dank alleys that would lead them to the smith.

Jaime stopped dead, but didn't turn around to look at the woman, nor did he address her. Instead, his eyes roamed the alley. He knew why she had stopped him. They were not alone. A man and a woman stood in the shadows before him, both armed with spears. It was obvious that those two would not let him pass in peace.

"So the long await trap… at last," Jaime muttered bitterly.

He had expected something like this would happen soon. It wasn't the first, nor would it be the last attempt on his life. The Usurper has placed a large enough bounty on his head to tempt even the most foolish of assassins.

"Very well then," Jaime said, "Don't expect me to go easy on any of you."

He pulled his sword, quicker than any other could do and swung it in a long arc against the closest of his attackers, the woman behind him. Myria was obviously not surprised at all and had deflected the sword with longest knives.

"So you knew all along," she laughed.

"A little serpent tipped me off about your late night strolls every time we are near a city," Jaime replied, "But that doesn't mean that I am not sorely disappointed in you. You could have served a cause bigger than this petty life of an assassin."

He had to shift his focus away from Myria and towards the other attackers, as the man swung his spear at him. The other woman followed soon after. Like a deadly dance, the two spearmen attacked and retread, each covering the openings of the other. The Lannister knight was pushed more and more into a defensive stance.

Things looked grim for him. Jaime had no need for ominous dragon dreams or fire gazing to see the possible future in which he would be very dead and his duty unfulfilled.

The tip of the man's spear found its way into a gap of Jaime's leather armor, grazing the flesh underneath the tunic before he could push the weapon away. The wound hurt more than such a small cut should.

Poison. He bit back the angry curse as he realized this. Their weapons are poisoned and too much of it would end him quicker than their deadly dance ever could. There was no need to skewer him with their spears, small cuts, and the poison would do the trick just as easily.

"I really hope that you realize that the Usurper's gold will be your undoing. Do you really expect that my father would let you leave the Seven Kingdoms alive after killing his firstborn son? You are fools if you believe that," he spat.

The man laughed mockingly, as he stopped his assault for a short moment.

"I have no need of the fat swine's gold. He will meet his end, just like you and your precious father, Lannister."

"Bloody vengeance then, how droll," Jaime growled, "Everyone feels slighted and blood is always the quickest way to fulfill your ominous revenge fantasies."

"Not revenge! Justice," Myria bellowed at him. "Justice for Elia and her children."

Elia… Jaime felt as if someone had hit him over the head. They were here to get justice for Elia Martell. Princess Elia Martell, the wife of the dragon Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. Elia Martell, the woman who had chosen to trust him with her child's safety. Elia Martell, the woman who had been butchered by his father, when all pretense of civility and respect had been tossed aside at the end of Robert Baratheon's unjust rebellion.

"You… you are Oberyn Martell," Jaime said.

"So the little lion knows me, how good of you," Oberyn replied angrily, as he pulled the hood back, which had obscured his face during the fight. "And now I will kill you."

"Kill me, Martell, and you will piss on your sister's last will," Jaime told him, "Princess Elia..."

"Don't you dare use her name. Your father murdered her and now I will murder you. He will suffer what I have suffered."

A bitter laugh escaped Jaime's lips, as he saw the blind fury on the Dornish prince's face. Oberyn was one of many. Men and women who have to this day failed to make their peace with the horrific end of the rebellion.

Myria was the first to strike again, as the Dornish Prince seemed preoccupied with his own rage. Jaime's movement had become sluggish from the poison coursing through his blood, so he was barely able to block her swift strikes and kicks. It was only now that he realized that the poison on their weapons was not meant to kill, but to paralyze. It was both a relief and another reason to worry.

"What's up, Lannister, tired already," she mocked, a nasty sneer on her face.

Jaime could only laugh in response. "Poison is the weapon of the craven and weak," he spat back. But his bravado was little more than empty words, as his strength waned, even more, forcing him down on one knee.

"I've tolerated your insolent tongue for long enough, Lannister," Myria hissed, as she got ready to strike him. But she didn't get the chance to vent her anger.

"Nymeria, step back, his life is mine to take," Oberyn ordered, as he slowly approached the kneeling knight. "Any last words, Lannister filth?"

Jaime looked up at the man standing before him. All he saw was the rage distorted mask of a man who had lost himself in his anger. Oberyn Martell had suffered for a long time. A mistake on his own part, Jaime had to admit. He should have found a way to inform the Martells of Elia's plan, but he never saw the need for it. This all could have been avoided. But at least now all would be revealed… in a more painful way than absolutely necessary.

"If I were you, I would bow," Jaime muttered weakly.

"What did you say?" Oberyn asked angrily, as he knelt down so he would be face to face with Jaime.

"I said that you are a fool. And you are not the only one who can lure others into a trap," Jaime replied, followed by a tired chuckle.

Oberyn's eyes widened in shock, as he realized what the Lannister knight had meant. His eyes found his daughter Nymeria first, only to see her go down, an arrow in her shoulder. Obara, who had obediently stayed back to let him have his vengeance on his own terms, followed quickly after.

"Nymeria! Obara!" he cried out in anguish, as he saw his daughters defeated by some unseen assailant.

Archers appeared on the surrounding roofs, all members of the same mercenary company. And down in the alley, the only exits got blocked by numerous heavily armed men, with large shields and long spears.

Nymeria groaned in pain, as she tried to push her up with the one arm that would still obey her commands. "No!" she cried out, "You shouldn't even be here! You were supposed to sail to Elyria! I saw your ship leave the harbor!"

A woman approached the scene alone, as the rest of the warriors stayed in position. It was a tall woman, with silky black hair, falling over her shoulder in a single braid. The polished copper of her armor and the mask, which depicted the angelic face of a young girl made her look like the Maiden incarnate, rather than a living human being.

Nymeria knew well to fear this woman… she had learned a lot from her, even though she was quite a bit younger than Nymeria herself.

"I always knew that you are little more than a whore, Myria," the woman spat, "And I was right to distrust you. Thankfully the Lord-Commander trusts my judgment more than he would have ever trusted you."

"I will not let you interfere," Nymeria cried out, but another arrow to the other shoulder sent her back down on the ground, face first into the dirt.

Oberyn ignored his daughter's pained outcry, as he allowed anger to guide his hand. Even if he would die here in this alley, he would take the Lannister bastard with him. So he raised his spear to pierce the knight's heart and end his miserable existence.

Death was so close… but there was no fear to be found on Jaime Lannister's face. Even as Oberyn's spear rushed downward. Almost as if he had known that Oberyn's weapon would never reach him.

It was knocked away, by another spear, one that Jaime knew all too well. A weapon they had found in the Valyrian ruins of Draconys, some years ago. Serpent's Spine, the current wielder had dubbed the weapon, in honor of her own moniker, the Serpent's Daughter...

"I will be your opponent now, assassin," the woman wielding the spear said, as she pushed Oberyn away and positioned herself between the two men.

Oberyn wasn't sure what to make of this change. It was the first time he had ever been able to lay eyes on Jaime Lannister's second in command. The Serpent's Daughter, a young but greatly feared mercenary. Dornish or maybe Rhoynar, judging by the olive tint of the little skin he could see behind her copper-colored armor and mask.

"Rhae!" Jaime called out to her, but she had not heard his weakened voice. Instead, she had begun to attack.

Another deadly dance ensued between her and Oberyn, as the two spearmen showcased all the skill they had. The Dornish prince was obviously the superior one of them, with many years of experience and more strength at his disposal. But Rhae was just as deadly, more nimble on her feet and ruthless in the execution of her attacks.

She matched his attacks, blow for blow, evading his strikes as he evaded hers.

"Rhae! Don't fight him. You mustn't, I forbid it," Jaime bellowed as loudly as his waning strength allowed.

This time she heard him and halted in the middle of her attack. An opening Oberyn was all too happy to exploit, as he guided his spear towards the exposed flesh of her neck, right between her armor and mask.

Only narrowly she avoided the otherwise deadly blow, but the attack graced her face and dislodged her mask, throwing it far away from her.

Oberyn grew deathly pale, as he saw the young woman's face. This oh so familiar face with those dreadfully unfamiliar eyes.

"Elia… no… you are not her..." he stuttered, eyes wide.

Before him, there stood a carbon copy of his long-dead sister. A bit more voluptuous than Elia had ever been and a good bit taller, but the same face… only her eyes were out of place. Lilac, like those of that bastard Rhaegar Targaryen… And Elia had been a gentle soul, she would have never been able to look so loathing and bloodthirsty. Only he and his own daughters could match that look...

"Greetings, uncle," Rhae said, as she bowed mockingly before him. "What's up with that look? Have you seen a ghost? I can hardly fault you for it, so close to Valyria we see all kinds of strange things."

"What treachery is this? Who are you, to call me uncle? Elia is dead, and so are her children. I buried their remains myself!"

Rhae laughed at him, a bitter sound, full of loathing after being reminded of that sordid affair in the past. "Decoys. At least mine was one. We got lucky that Lorch was such an immoral butcher. No one would have ever been able, to tell the truth, all thanks to that monster."

"Lannister! What have you done!" Oberyn's feeble rage was quickly directed at Jaime, who still knelt on the ground, trying to stay awake to fight off the effects of Oberyn's poison with sheer willpower alone.

"I did as I had been ordered. Protect the princess… at all costs. And I told you before, you should bow, Oberyn Martell. You are in the presence of royalty. Bow before Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, the Serpent's daughter, the last remaining child of crown prince Rhaegar Targaryen and the rightful heir to the Iron Throne."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief continuation, for those who so desperately need to know what happens next even though I've said that this is a one-shot.

Slowly he paced in front of the fire pit. Like a caged animal, he was prowling around, ever impatient and moody. Ever so often his eyes found his oldest daughter, who had been placed on a cot in the corner of the room. She was sleeping. Put to sleep to better deal with the pain, after a healer had taken care of the arrow wounds she had suffered.

But only Obara was with him. He had no idea where they had brought Nymeria after the mercenaries had overpowered them. They had been dragged off, bound and blindfolded. He had only endured this so he would get another chance to speak to his niece, even though his pride as a warrior had suffered greatly under this kind of treatment. The fact that his second daughter was now missing mad things only worse...

Where had he gone wrong? Oberyn Martell was many things, a fool was not one of those things, or so he told himself again and again. But the outcome of this day had brought more questions than answers. Instead of the joyful relief of just retribution, he was now a prisoner himself. But it wasn't the failure to kill Jaime Lannister that kept him awake now, but rather the revelation of this day.

Rhaenys was still alive. His little niece, Elia's beloved daughter. She had been alive for all those years. Now she was a grown woman, a mercenary and above all a skilled fighter. From what little he had seen he couldn't deny his desire to fight her in earnest. A real test of skill, to see if she is indeed able to defend herself.

But all of that would have to wait. First, he would need answers. The question of how Rhaenys had survived burned on his mind. And he still owed that Lannister a few broken bones for keeping Rhaenys a secret from him for more than a decade.

His pacing ended suddenly when the door of the room he was in was opened and a man entered. A fair-haired lad, likely not even half his age. He didn't know him, but he recognized the family sigil on the armor of the man. House Celtigar. Whoever the boy was, he was from Westeros and possibly a Targaryen loyalist.

“The princess demands your presence,” the boy said, “Come. And don't try anything.”

“The princess has her cravings it seems,” Oberyn muttered.

He followed the boy without quarrel, as he was lead outside and into a large courtyard. He already saw Rhaenys the moment they had left the building. She was at the other end, a bow in hand that was almost as tall as she. A practice target had been placed a good one hundred paces away from her.

The Dornish prince chuckled darkly, as he saw that she had placed his helmet on the head of her target. Such a vengeful little girl, nothing like her gentle mother. Had it not been for her looks, he would have been hard-pressed to believe that this little warrior was really his niece. She had more in common with his own daughters. But there was no denying it, when he looked at her, he saw Elia's vengeance. All of Elia's beauty, but none of her nature.

He studied her more closely now, as he approached her. She was taller than Elia, nearly as tall as he remembered her father. And while Elia had been flat and willowy, Rhaenys was voluptuous and had the body of a trained warrior. He could see it more clearly now. She had discarded her armor from before and only wore a simple white tunic and breeches. Improper for a princess, but practical for a training warrior. A leather chest-piece lay abandoned behind her, obviously discarded for the sake of comfort and movability. She reminded him a lot of his own daughters in that regard. They, too, preferred to ditch their armor for the sake of speed.

Once he was close enough, she turned towards him and stared at him with those awful eyes. Those Targaryen eyes. Purple and bright, so foreign on Elia's face...

“Commander, I've brought you Prince Oberyn.” the Celtigar boy told her.

“Thank you, Clement,” Rhaenys told the boy with a smile.

That smile was all Elia. Gentle and true, inspiring trust and loyalty. A stark contrast to the look of loathing she had reserved for him, the moment her eyes found him once more.

The boy meanwhile walked towards two others, who stood not far away from Rhaenys. Two more highborn lads wearing the colors of Westerosi Houses. Ashford and Sunglass.

“Here you are, uncle,” Rhaenys said. She was no longer looking at him, though. Instead, she had raised her bow once more, an arrow nocked and ready. Her shot missed, but not by much.

“Your stance is wrong,” Oberyn commented, “Your legs need to be further apart and your arm needs to be higher when you pull the string.”

She chuckled but did as he said. The next shot missed as well, but it nearly scratched the helmet of the target.

“Hopeless,” Rhaenys sighed, “Jaime has certainly tried, but no matter how much I train, I will never be a competent archer.”

“It's all a matter of practice,” Oberyn replied.

He was surprised by this almost cordial exchange. The way she had looked at him before had only suggested loathing. This was almost... nice. But the moment didn't last when Rhaenys suddenly turned around and aimed her next arrow directly at his chest.

“But it is quite hard to miss a target that is this close,” she growled. “Now you should give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you for your attempted murder of my dearest friend and protector.”

She would call a Lannister her friend? Was she unaware of what the Lannisters had done in King's Landing? Had no one told her that it was Tywin Lannister who had ordered the deaths of all Targaryens in the capital? Her mother had been killed by these people and yet... He got angry just thinking about this.

“I am here to avenge my sister and her children,” he told her truthfully. “Tywin Lannister took them from me, so now I will take his family from him.”

“Mother died, yes,” Rhaenys agreed, “and Tywin Lannister will pay the price for his betrayal, but Jaime has been loyal and true, I will not allow you to harm him. Try again and I will end you.”

Her threat would have been more convincing, had her arms not been shaking this much. It takes a lot of strength to shoot a bow this big and the longer she stood likes this, the sooner her strength would run out. Not to mention that Oberyn was sure that he would be able to beat his niece in a fight without much trouble. She lacked at least a dozen years of experience to be able to beat him in a duel. But the challenge would be a welcome one. Too bad that there were the three lads and at least a dozen archers on the roofs of the buildings surrounding them. He would have to wait for another chance to duel her.

Rhaenys attempt to intimidate him was about to fail soon. Not that this would keep her from trying. She most certainly had inherited the same fiery temper that he had inherited from his own mother. It had only skipped a generation it would seem. Elia had been a kind woman, her daughter showed no signs of the same.

“How are you still alive?” Oberyn demanded to know.

Rhaenys finally turned her bow away from him and released another shot at the training target. But instead of taking another arrow, one of the three lads came running and took the bow from her.

“I've had help,” Rhaenys replied. “My mother's so-called family certainly wasn't there to defend me. But my father's loyal friend was. Jaime remained loyal to the bitter end. He smuggled me out of the city, just before the sacking had begun. He brought me to Essos, forsaking all he had been in the process. Here he raised me, trained me, and made sure that I would have an army at my command, should the day come that I have the need for it.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he is a good man. A loyal man. A knight. One who has no need to fight with dirty tricks like poison and murder,” Rhaenys replied. Her words became increasingly harsher towards the end of her declaration, as her eyes bore into Oberyn.

“Your knight will survive if that is what you fear,” Oberyn told her, “The poison I've used is meant to paralyze the limbs. By tomorrow morning he shouldn't feel a thing.”

“I know that. He is already back on his feet, though his movements are weighed down by your poison.”

That was surprising, but Oberyn did his best not to show it. How stubborn could the man be, to force his body to obey despite the amount of poison in his blood?

“He wasn't meant to die because of the poison,” Oberyn growled. “That would have been too easy a death for the son of that monster...”

“You are a cruel man, Oberyn Martell. You were not here just to kill, but to torture as well,” she spat, “Tomorrow you and your oldest daughter will leave Tolos, never to return. The next time I see your face, I will kill you,” Rhaenys said, as she turned away from him and towards one of the nearby buildings.

“Wait!” Oberyn demanded, “What about Nymeria?”

Rhaenys halted in her steps for just a moment. She didn't turn to look at him, but if she had, he would have surely seen the full extent of her hatred. “Myria is a traitor to the company. Attempted murder of the Lord Commander only knows one punishment. As the Lord Commander's second in command, I will kill her at sundown tomorrow.”

“I won't allow...”

“Clement, see to it that Prince Oberyn is returned to his room. And double the guards, snakes are tricky prisoners,” Rhaenys told the Celtigar boy in passing.

Then she was gone.

Was this really Elia's daughter? That sweet little child who had clung to him for a whole day the first time he had visited his sister on Dragonstone? She had been such a lovely child back then... This Rhaenys Targaryen, however, was truly a dangerous beast. A dragon, hiding under the skin of a Martell princess.

“This way please, Prince Oberyn,” Clement said, as he motioned for Oberyn to follow him back towards the building that had come out of before. The building where Obara was sleeping in a room, oblivious to the danger they were in now.

Now he would have to find a way out of his prison. He had to save Nymeria before Rhaenys is able to do something they all will regret later.

They had placed several guards in front of his room. He counted six at first glance. But he was sure that there were more. The adjacent rooms were likely full of other mercenaries, all waiting for a chance to fight.

“Have a good night, Prince Oberyn,” Clement told him. He had expected it to be some sort of mocking, but there was no falsehood to be found in his tone or his facial expression. An honest lad, it would seem. One of those enthralled by the kinder Rhaenys, that he had only seen a short glimpse of before.

It made him wonder, how many more Westerosi nobles were here in Rhaenys' employ? There had never even been a rumor of a Celtigar boy going east or missing all of a sudden. So the boy was likely either a member of a branch family or a third son. Someone unimportant to the family's future. Neither heir nor spare. Someone who could just disappear.

With a dull thud, the door closed behind him, leaving him alone with Obara. His eldest was still sleeping soundly. Better for her, she would need all her strength the next day. They would not be leaving without Nymeria.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep in mind that this Rhaenys has gone through a lot, with only Jaime by her side from the very beginning. He is all the family she has known in over a decade, so when Oberyn comes to kill Jaime, she is very angry about that. At the moment she pretty much hates her Dornish family and wants nothing to do with them. That may or may not change in the future. Or maybe Jaime will convince her that there is more to gain from accepting them instead of killing them. Either way, it can't be worse than the Dorne plot of the TV show...


End file.
